The aftermath
by RileyAnastasia
Summary: Harry Potter is dead, leaving a world alone.  A safe world, but a lonely one.  His friends and loved ones reflect on his death and their relationships with him, remembering the hero who saved everyone but himself.  D/H, & HP died along w/ voldemort in DH


Draco Malfoy

In the end, it was Harry Potter who loved too deeply.

It was Harry Potter who saved the world- sacrificing himself for the betterment of others, even though he deserved none of the pain.

It was Harry Potter who slept beside me and screamed at me and cried into my chest. Long, gasping sobs and harsh breaths and the fragile hands of a broken boy, gripping mine as though he'd never feel my rough fingers again.

Not once did Harry Potter see me cry. But I cried for him. In dark corners during classes I should have gone to, my forehead leaned against the cold stone. Unaffected by my shaking shoulders and blurred eyes.

The castle saw me cry. Over and over, I wept for the boy-who-lived. The boy who should have died, rather than suffer through the life he was forced into.

For the sad fact is, I knew from the beginning that Harry Potter would not survive this war.

I knew that the lightning bolt scar would belong to a corpse by the end. Not a soul. Harry Potter gave the world his soul to maim and beg for and destroy.

And I was left to pick up the pieces that were still intact. I was left to hold the broken heart of a hero in my shaking hands, watching him fall apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to retrieve.

He was stardust. Pale flecks in the sunlight on a midsummer's day. Winter clouds in soft rays of color through stained glass windows. The savior was destroyed, leaving beauty in his midst, beauty none could see but me. Harry Potter saved the world, and then the world forgot. They did not try to remember his face, or his words, or his pain. They forgot the price paid for their freedom, but I never did.

I never forgot Harry Potter.

Because I loved him.

I kissed his lips in dark rooms and made him forget the next day or the day before and I helped him to remember why he was fighting.

He used to tell me that he was fighting for me. That once the world was safe, I would be safe as well. I would have given my life to be able to fight his war for him. And I tried to.

But Harry Potter had to die to save the world.

I held him in my arms one night in the cold hallways of Hogwarts, and for every tremble I tightened my arms. He shook for hours, wracked with the burden of a million wizard lives and billions of muggle ones. His nails scratched my skin, leaving trails of little droplets of blood, but I just kissed him. Again and again, trying to steal away his hurt for just a second.

He fucked me in his pain. Tried to make me hurt like he did. He never stopped saying sorry, but there was never anything to apologize for. Harry Potter lived and died a hero to the world, but to me he was simply the most beautiful entity of human life to ever grace the world.

And the world took advantage of that.

I would give my life to have him here with me, happy again.

To at least have him know what happiness was, for hero's rarely do.

I would provide for him, and love him, and he could do anything he wished, as long as he was happy.

And then I would be happy too.

I could sleep by his side every night, and kiss his forehead when he opened groggy eyes towards the sunlight.

I could hold him together until he could do it himself.

I would make him smile- his green eyes flashing and cheeckbones flushed.

But I am resigned to this loneliness. I am lost without my love.

For hate and love are separated by the thin thread, and the thread broke in our 5th year- and then, he was beautiful. We were beautiful.

I was made of shattered glass and porcupine quills- sharp and combative to the touch, but not after Harry Potter turned the shards to seaglass, wrecked upon craggy shores.

He was afraid to live,

And I was afraid to die.

I taught him not to be afraid anymore,

And he showed me that death was nothing more than part of living.

I am not afraid of death anymore,

But Harry Potter lives no more,

So I see no point.

I am wealthy,

Successful,

And handsome.

But I am alone.

And I will join my love after death,

But not until I am meant to, for I promised Harry Potter a week before the end of the war, that if he died, I would live for him.

So many people have broken every promise ever made to him, I cannot bear to break another, even if he would never know.

So I exist, for Harry Potter.

Nothing more.

I often wonder if, when Harry stood facing the Dark Lord, he thought of me.

If, before the green light hit him, he whispered my name.

And, even though the dark lord was destroyed, along with every piece of his soul, if Harry Potter wished to die. If the boy who saved the world, could not bear any more of it.

I would not have blamed him.


End file.
